


More Distant Than Stars, And Nearer Than The Eye

by snowhite_dahlia



Category: Cats (2019), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Homophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Use of British Slang, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Some Background Victeazer, because that is my Brand, catnip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhite_dahlia/pseuds/snowhite_dahlia
Summary: Something happened at the Jellicle Ball and Mungojerrie is absolutely not talking about it, much to Rumpleteazer's annoyance.
Relationships: Mungojerrie/Rum Tum Tugger
Kudos: 23





	More Distant Than Stars, And Nearer Than The Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @overthinked-cats-theories as part of a CATS exchange over on ye olde Tumblr! When I signed up for the exchange, I said I was happy to take on writing just about anything as I really wanted to challenge myself. These are two characters that I had never considered matching up, so it was indeed a challenge, but such a fun one! <3
> 
> Title is from some T.S. Eliot poetry, because I am That Guy. Please enjoy!

“It’s happening, it’s happening!!”

Syllabub had come tearing around the corner of Stubbins at such a hurried pace, her paws barely able to hold fast their grip on the cobblestones. She tried to right herself, but of course her efforts were fruitless and she stumbled before rolling directly into the crowd of Jellicles, the tribe members all quickly lifting paws to step out of her way. At last, she came to a stop—a huffing mass of yellow fur—directly at the feet of Alonzo, who had turned to see what all the commotion was.

This, of course, had proved to be a most fortuitous interruption, at least for Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. As much as Jerrie and his sister truly _relished_ these now quite regular scoldings and general reminders of how tenuous and probationary their place in the tribe was from Alonzo and Cassandra and the rest of Munkustrap’s little second-in-command lackeys—well, obviously, they didn’t relish them in the least. Frankly, they were insulting and just downright _annoying_ and it made Jerrie question Teazer’s wisdom about begging Old Deut’s forgiveness and asking to be allowed back post-Macavity antics.

Blimey, this time they’d just been idly peeking in a window when Alonzo had set upon them with his holier-than-thou _you’d better not even_ **_think_ ** _about it you two_ tirade. It was the finger-shaking that always irritated Jerrie, and even though the tom had fully turned from the twins to focus on Syllabub’s excited and chaotic pronouncement, Alonzo _still_ had that damn finger of his raised at them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jerrie caught his sister’s attention. They both clearly had the same understanding of the situation and each took a tentative step backward.

Unfortunately, nothing escaped Alonzo—it was part of what made him so _insufferable_. “You two, stay put,” he commanded, his eyes still not leaving the yellow kitten at his feet. The twins each let out an annoyed huff of defeat. “Syl, what exactly is happening?”

“The docks! At the docks!” she panted, climbing to her feet with assistance from Victoria, the tribe’s latest addition. She’d been watching the twins’ scolding from afar, but had rushed forward when the yellow kitten had gone completely bum-over-tea kettle. 

“What’s happening at the docks?” pressed Alonzo, as the rest of the tribe members who had also been not-so-discreetly watching the siblings’ public dressing moved in to see what all the hullabaloo was about.

“At the docks,” Syllabub repeated, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Buncha ships—all unloading—heaps and heaps of fish—”

Several pairs of ears snapped forward as everyone suddenly understood the urgency with which Syllabub had brought her news.

The humans all had their _Easters_ and their _Boxing Days_ ; meanwhile, the cats of the Jellicle tribe had their own holidays. There were the days when McCabe’s butcher shop set out their scraps or the morning after a particularly lavish affair at The Meow Club when the rubbish bins were bursting with succulent treasures. And then, a bit more rare but all the more special, were the days when ships would come to deliver their bounties. Even if none of the humans were feeling particularly generous, there were always fish slipping from nets, dropping from barrels. A true cornucopia of culinary delight.

But the docks did not belong to the territory maintained by the Jellicles. Truly, they were a no cat’s land, so it was first come, first served. Time was absolutely of the essence.

“Came as fast as I could,” puffed Syllabub. “Me and Tugger didn’t see anyone else, but—”

“You did well, Syl,” cut in Alonzo, before addressing the gathered clan. “You heard her, everyone. Let’s move and be quick about it.” He rounded on the twins. “We’ll continue this later,” he promised, leveling a heavy stare at each of them.

“Looking forward to it,” they chimed in sarcastic unison as the tom moved off with the rest of the tribe towards the river.

Rumpleteazer had made to start too, but quickly stopped when she noticed her brother awkwardly lagging behind.

“What are you doing?” she asked in exasperation. “We’re not even gonna get the cast offs if we don’t move, so let’s _move_ —”

“You go on without me,” said Jerrie quickly, his paws coming to his hips in an attempt to sell nonchalance. “I’m not—” he swallowed. “Not much in the mood to fight a bunch of kittens for some underweight trout.”

Teazer peered at him skeptically, but Jerrie did his best to hold firm. It was nigh on impossible for casual strangers to lie to Rumpleteazer, so being her brother, he was working at an extreme disadvantage, a miserable fact only compounded by his general inability towards any form of subterfuge. She heaved a long exhale through her nose, paws padding across the cobblestones as she came back to him.

“Alright, what’s all this, then?” she asked, her eyes casting him up and down.

“Nothing,” he lied, spectacularly, looking at anything that wasn’t his sister. “Like I said, just not in the mood—”

“Yeah, I heard what you said.” She narrowed her eyes at him, searching his features, trying to find a crack to exploit. She had just opened her mouth to begin her cross-examination when a small voice from behind interrupted her.

“Teazer?”

It was Victoria. She’d hung back from the rest of the departing Jellicles and was now looking at the female calico with round, expectant eyes. Rumpleteazer was trying to stand firm, but at the sound of Victoria’s voice, her gaze had dropped, losing much of its interrogative quality. Mungojerrie found his opening.

“Go on then,” he urged with a nod of his head. “Your little white queen is waiting for you,” he continued, his tone teasing.

Rumpleteazer’s eyes snapped back to her brother, her brow furrowed, her lips pulling together almost into a pout. “I told you—it’s not— _we’re_ not—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” interrupted Jerrie, waving her along. “Go on, then. I’m gonna take a turn ‘round that new place in Kensington Square. See you after?”

Teazer hesitated for a moment, her eyes still fixed on her brother. “Alright,” she conceded. “See you after.” He nodded, and she at last turned, collecting Victoria and moving to catch up to the departed tribe.

* * *

Obviously, it had been a lie. A terrible lie. What sane cat doesn’t fancy a little pescatarian delight? Who’s _not in the mood_ to sample a bounty from the sea? But what could he say? Certainly not the horrible, abysmal _truth_.

From his perch atop the arm of a ruined sofa, Jerrie let out a heavy sigh. He looked around the parlor he occupied, surveying the aftermath of the chaos he had single-handedly wrought: pillows clawed, vases overturned, the fortepiano in the corner covered in a snow-like blanket of shredded sheet music. He’d hoped that a few hours spent raining havoc down upon some stately salon would perhaps let him forget his worries. And it had worked—for a bit.

But his engine of mischief had eventually run out of steam and now here he sat, dejectedly laid out atop the chaise, feeling quite pitiful.

Of course he’d wanted to go down to the docks, _of course_ he did. But _he’d_ be there and that was just, well, it was too much right now.

And on top of that, he’d lied to Rumpleteazer, something he hardly ever did. And not just because seeing straight through any type of fabrication was just a casual pastime for her. No, if there was ever anyone he could be honest with, it was Teazer. For as long as he could remember, it’d always been the two of them, paw in paw, making their way through the world (usually leaving a trail of deviltry behind them.) Tribes had come and gone, but they’d _always_ been together.

He could tell Teazer anything, he knew that. It was more the idea of actually saying it. Out loud. Into the universe. Vocalizing it meant that it was real, that it was an actual event, no matter how brief, that had actually occurred in the real and actual realm of reality. It could no longer hide in the deep recesses of his mind, where he could pretend that it had not, in actuality, happened.

Though, if he was trying to pretend like nothing happened, even Jerrie had to admit that he was doing a piss-poor job of it. But how else to proceed? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

Another heavy sigh.

Behind him, the clock on the mantel chimed. Surely, the tribe would be returning soon, all plump and round from their pelagic feast. It would do him no favors to be caught so deep in his spiritless ruminations. After a slow stretch, he lightly bounded over to the piano bench, and slipped out through the open window and into the quiet of the street.

* * *

And so Mungojerrie continued on with his absolute shite plan of pretending that: a.) absolutely nothing had happened, and b.) that he was perfectly fine and normal and certainly not trapped in a storm of uncertain angst. Teazer, for her part, tried to follow this plan as well since it was abundantly obvious that Jerrie had no desire to discuss what was so clearly weighing on him. And she’d decided to respect that, as it was his prerogative, even if it was a very, very silly and downright annoying prerogative. 

That is, until a few days later, when she’d popped her head into the second-story window of that quaint little row home just off Trafalgar Square in order to excitedly inform her brother that the Rum Tum Tugger had announced he’d be opening up the Milk Bar this evening, only to be met with an unenthusiastic _mmm… pass._

Briefly, Rumpleteazer clenched her jaw in frustration before relaxing it. Again, Mungojerrie tried to keep his posture calm, casual—a true feat since he knew the storm was about to come.

Teazer turned to Victoria, whose paws rested on the windowsill next to her own and had accompanied her to deliver what the calico _thought_ would be wonderful news. “Victoria, why don’t you trot on over to the Bar, and I’ll be along in just a bit.”

The white queen passed a quick look between the siblings before nodding her assent and bounding out to the fence.

“Alright,” began Teazer, slipping her lithe form beneath the frame of the window and into the house. “Let’s have it, then.”

Jerrie shook his head, attempting to feign confusion. “Haven’t the foggiest idea what—”

But she cut him off with a dismissive click of her tongue as she gracefully lept up onto the settee that he was settled on. “Drop the act, eh?” entreated Teazer, settling herself against the cushioned arm opposite her brother.

Jerrie hazarded a glance at her—she’d calmly folded her arms across her chest and was watching him patiently, eyebrows raised, her whole air anticipatory as she waited for her sibling to explain his downright bizarre behavior over the previous fortnight. Clearly, there was no more avoiding it. Mungojerrie’s shoulders sagged as he deflated in defeat.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” moaned Teazer. “Just spill it already, yeah? Whatever it is, I _really_ doubt it’s half as bad as you’ve built up in your head.”

At that assessment, Jerrie let out a derisive snort. “It’s bad, Teazer, alright? It’s just real, real—” and he gestured vaguely, searching for an appropriate descriptor. “... _bad_.”

“Try me.”

Jerrie took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I’ve just—I’ve just been trying to stay clear of Tugger a bit, alright?” 

“Tugger?” repeated Rumpleteazer, her face practically folding itself into a question mark. “He’s one of the few idiots around here who was actually in _favor_ of letting us back—what’s he done to get you all cheesed?”

Mungojerrie absently pawed at his ear. “ _Nothing_ , alright? It’s… it’s nothing.”

To this, Teazer unfurled an eyeroll so spectacular it rivaled Cassandra. “ _Blimey_ , Jerrie, I’m your big sister—just out with it already—”

“We’re _twins_ , you git.”

“ _Yes_ , and I was born first, so—”

“ _We don’t know which of us was born first_ —”

“And _you’re_ dodging again—just spill the issue with Tugger already!”

“Alright, _alright_ ,” huffed Jerrie, throwing up his paws. “You remember back at the Ball, right?”

“Lots of parts to the Ball, kit.”

“ _During Bomba’s number_ , when she had us out spreading the, um—you know,” and he filled in his blank with a sprinkling motion.

“Yeah, the catnip, go on,” urged Teazer, her patience now wearing even thinner, if that was possible.

“So, the three of us were all out on the floor, passing out the um, the stuff,” continued Jerrie. “And I see Tugger coming toward me, yeah? And I figure, since he’s kind of a bigger tom—I figure he needs a bigger go of it. So, I dump a bit in my paw and—and I get him square in the face and, well—” He paused to scratch at his collar.

“Everlasting _Cat_ , Jerrie—”

The male calico took a sharp breath through his nose. “He just—he got this hazy look on his face, like, real happy-like, and he got real close and...” _Feck_ , Jerrie could feel the heat burning along his cheeks. “He—he gave me this right big nuzzle and kind of curled his tail around my leg, and well, then ol’ Macavity showed up and, you know, that was that.”

For a moment, both siblings were silent. Jerrie kept his gaze firmly trained towards the floor, far too nervous to look and see what emotions might be etched upon his sister’s face. Embarrassment? Disgust? Scand—

“Is that it?” came Teazer’s voice at last.

 _Is that it?_ Mungojerrie’s eyes shot up to his sister but he found nothing he expected, only an expression of vague vexation and confusion. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Rumpleteazer threw up her paws. “You mean to say _this_ is why you’ve been such a wet blanket these past few weeks?”

For a moment, Jerrie’s jaw went slack. “It—it was a very _loaded_ gesture, Teaz—”

“Yeah,” cut in Rumpleteazer, “and it happened when he was over the moon on catnip, so who cares?” Suddenly, realization dawned over the calico queen’s features, and her eyes grew wide. “ _Unless_ —”

“Unless _nothing_ , Teaz,” broke in Jerrie, attempting to head off this particular line of thought right at the pass.

“You’ve got it for Tugger, don’t you?” pressed Teazer, extending an accusatory finger toward her sibling which he quickly leaned over to swat away. “And real bad, judging from the looks of it,” she added, undeterred. 

“I don’t have... _anything_ for Tugger, alright?” insisted Mungojerrie, trying to ignore the note of petulance in his tone that was actively undercutting the steadfastness of his position.

“Ah, well, in that case, let’s head off to the Milk Bar then?” offered Rumpleteazer with a mocking smile.

“I already told you, I’m not in the right humor for the Bar,” said Jerrie flatly, refusing to relent.

"Alright then,” acquiesced Teazer, standing with a shrug before turning back towards the window. “Stay here and have a real riot with the throw pillows. If you need me, I’ll be out, you know, _enjoying myself_.”

“Yeah, well, be sure to say _hullo_ to your little alabaster queen,” pitched Jerrie in a last ditch effort to salvage his pride.

Teazer paused at the window ledge, looking over her shoulder. “Oh, I will. ‘Cause, you know, I actually _figured my shite out_.” And with a flick of her tail, she was gone.

* * *

The next day, Mungojerrie aimed to keep to himself. He set off early under the pretense of hunting mice down in the catacombs of St. Anne’s—always a favorite pastime—but quickly found he wasn’t in the right humor for that either. So instead, he perched himself atop the high stone wall that bordered the church’s gardens and contented himself with watching the humans as they hurried along in the street.

It was nearing evening when Rumpleteazer called out to her brother from down in the long grass, shaking him out of his stupor.

“Been looking for you everywhere, you know,” she said after finally grabbing his attention. Her tone was clearly meant to convey irritation, but the look in her eyes said anything but.

“Are you hard up for friends or for hobbies if you spent your day looking for me?” teased Jerrie.

“Will you just get down here already? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Jerrie’s ears swung forward. “A surprise?”

“Yeah, a surprise—and I’m beginning to question if I should _waste it_ on such an ungrateful littermate—”

Without another word, the male calico sprung from his lookout post to join his sister down on the lawn.

* * *

Rumpleteazer had intimated that they were heading for McCabe’s, but gave no details beyond that, at first insisting that she didn’t want to ruin anything and then, after Jerrie had continued pressing her, hissing and threatening to keep it all for herself if he continued being a right twit about it. So, Mungojerrie had sealed his mouth up and instead occupied his racing mind with all the delicious possibilities that might be awaiting him at the butcher shop.

After a darting glance around the darkening street to ensure there were no tailers, Rumpleteazer stealthily slipped into the alley behind the shop, filled with rubbish bins and dimly lit by a singular overhead lamp. Mungojerrie eagerly sniffed at the air, hoping to capture a whiff of the evening’s delicacies. Beef tenderloin? Roast? Lamb shank? But, strangely, he seemed to be coming up empty. There was only the vague scent of—

 _Feck_.

Coming into the circle of lamplight was the grand (and fluffy) outline of none other than the Rum Tum Tugger. Immediately Jerrie looked to his sister, whose Cheshire grin rivaled the bright crescent moon that was moving across the sky. He opened his mouth—to protest? To question? To quietly scream? He wasn’t sure—but with a quick little caper, Rumpleteazer was atop one of the bins.

“You’ll thank me later, I’m sure,” she beamed, before giving the tip of her ginger tail a wave and disappearing into the night. Blimey, she was fond of doing that.

Well, this was apparently happening, whether Mungojerrie wanted it to or not. “Heyyy there, Tugger,” tried Jerrie, summoning what was hopefully a very believable smile. “How you been?”

“Jerrie!” It was part roar, part laugh, part greeting. And at the sound of it, it made a sort of warmth kindle in the calico’s chest. A warmth that was only further stoked as the bushy Maine coon strode forward to trap Mungojerrie in a beast of a hug. “You were missed _heaps_ at the Milk Bar last night, mate” he added, releasing the squirming calico. “Your sister said something about you needing some quality time with a pillow?”

Jerrie stammered out an awkward laugh as he stumbled a few steps back, trying to get a little distance, a little footing. “Yeah, a real jokester that one is,” he offered. “What, ah—what are you doing out here?”

“Well,” began Tugger, leaning oh so casually against the nearest metal bin. The lamplight glinted off his coat, his necklace, his grin. “Our little Teazer came and found me, said you and I have a bit to work out, so,” and he gestured dramatically. “Here I am, at your service.”

Jerrie immediately shook his head, paw reflexively coming up to bat at his flattened ear. “No idea about that, probably another one of her little pranks—”

“Hey, hey,” interrupted Tugger, pushing off from the can. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you dodging me.”

The other cat froze. To be fair, he hadn’t exactly been very smooth about the whole thing, but there was something else that was causing the flush that had started in his chest to burn up to his cheeks. Out amongst the tribe, Tugger was always a bit of a showman, a performer. He was charisma incarnate, always playing to the crowd. But here, in the quiet dim of the alley, it was like all those flashy layers had fallen away, revealing an authenticity, an intimate self that was rarely shown. Jerrie drew a shaky breath.

“I, um—” Words. _Words_. Why were words suddenly so hard?

“Come on, mate,” urged Tugger. “You know I vouched for you two little troublemakers to be let back in, yeah? Our boy Alonzo was _not_ having it—”

“I know, and I’m real grateful—”

“Then level with me, eh?” asked Tugger. Cautiously, Jerrie looked up at him. Tugger’s eyes—normally so bright and jovial—were round, beseeching.

“It’s just, um,” began Jerrie, momentarily wondering how long he could stall. Eternally? Was that a possibility? “At the Ball, you know—well, you kind of—there was a, um, a _nuzzle_ —”

“Yeah, when Bee was singing? Before our favorite ginger cat showed up?” And suddenly, a bark of laughter escaped the tom. “Is that what all this is about then?” Shite, he sounded just like Teazer. Jerrie’s nose scrunched up in a brief soupçon of annoyance.

“You remembered that?”

Tugger was practically doubled over in laughter now. “Of course I did!” he admitted, wiping at his eyes. “But, you know, there was the whole bit with Old Deut—and you never made any comments on it, so I only assumed you weren’t interested. Of course, if it wasn’t welcome, mate—”

“No, no,” cut in Jerrie quickly. “It’s only—” and he paused, awkwardly rubbing at the fur on his shoulder. “What if—what if I was, maybe, _potentially_ —I don’t know, sort of actually interested?”

For a moment, there was only heavy, humid silence in the alley. Distantly, there was a rattle of metal and the single bark of a dog.

And then, Mungojerrie’s paws were leaving the cobblestones and his face was being pressed into the soft ruff of Tugger’s fur, as he realized the bigger tom had unceremoniously scooped him into another rousing embrace. Had Tugger always smelled this good—?

“Well, then, I’d say we got some lost time to make up for—don’t you think?” Tugger’s voice was a low purr in his ear and it made a pleasant shiver vibrate down Jerrie’s spine.

* * *

The rubbish bins behind The Meow Club were absolutely overflowing. Bustopher had of course graciously escorted the tribe through the club’s entrance and out to its backstreet, wherein the Jellicles had been treated to a plethora of mouth-watering scents. Here and there, cats hung atop different cans, tossing savory scraps to the clamoring masses below.

“Oi, coming at you!” called the Rum Tum Tugger from his perch on the rim of the Pot Hunters’ bin.

Looking up, Mungojerrie was hit squarely in the face by an incoming winkle. To his left, he heard his sister erupt into a raucous peal of laughter.

Immediately, Tugger was back on the ground, smoothing the fur on Jerrie’s head, expelling apologies between his own peals of barely restrained laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Jerrie, swatting at Tugger’s paws. “Yuck it up, you two.”

“Oh, come now, kit,” cooed Teazer, throwing an arm around her brother’s neck. “I’m just glad you worked your shite out—now at least I have someone to make fun of you with.”

“ _Har har_ , Teaz,” returned Jerrie, but as Tugger laughed and pulled him into another tight embrace, Jerrie had to admit: he was kind of glad he worked his shite out, too.


End file.
